Savage Heart
by Clementine Mack
Summary: When Millicent Bulstrode pledged herself to the Death Eaters, being ordered to live with the werewolf Fenrir Greyback and his pack was not what she had in mind.
1. Chapter 1

**[Author's Note] Some will recognize this fic as a repost. After two years of writing it I made the hard decision to remove it altogether while I made some tweaks and finalized the ending. This was my first large fic I ever wrote and one that really helped me mold the Fenrir Greyback seen in my other fics. I felt I had an obligation to see this one through not just for myself but for the true fans that came along for the journey over the years. Thank you! I look forward to posting this fic in its entirety over the upcoming weeks.**

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Chapter 1

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"I am going to miss you," Pansy sniffled, coaxing herself into a fit of tears. Millicent winced. She wasn't sure whether her friend was crying out of genuine despair or merely relief that she was not in Millicent's place. Although in truth she could not blame Pansy even if the latter was the case. It was certainly a sorry predicament she found herself in.

"I will be fine," she reassured the other girl and patted her head stiffly. "It will take much more than a few lousy werewolves to give me any trouble."

"Stay safe, Millie," Blaise said quietly and gave her a hug. She lingered in his embrace, breathing in the familiar scent of his sandalwood aftershave. The two had been best friends since their first year at Hogwarts and suddenly it hit her that she might not see him again for a very long time. She ignored the pang of sadness in her heart at this realization. Blaise felt the finality in their parting too but thankfully didn't say anything further. She could see the tension in his clenched jaw as he feigned a nonchalant air that Millicent appreciated, already at her threshold for theatrical displays of emotion thanks to Pansy. Blaise made her feel like they were exchanging their end of semester goodbye's at King's Crossing and not as though be it as it may she were being marched to her execution.

The yellow half moon hung over their head and lit the forest clearing with its glow. The small group of friends stood huddled around as they waited. Millicent drew her fur-lined cloak a little tighter but the gesture seemed futile against the cold winter air.

Millicent had been the first of peers to turn eighteen, and while it seemed like such an arbitrary age, she was nonetheless now considered an adult in the eyes of the wizarding community. But more importantly, in the eyes of Lord Voldemort. Pledging herself to the Dark Lord, Millicent had envisioned herself becoming a powerful dark witch but instead she found herself both the figurative and perhaps literal sacrificial lamb for the werewolves.

From her understanding Lord Voldemort had made a pact with the leader of the werewolves, Fenrir Greyback; whatever could be gained from the alliance made little difference to Millicent. Only that part of their agreement now involved her going to live with the werewolves—whether as their guest or as their food would remain to be seen. She took her circumstance with grace and honor but knew that her name had likely been drawn due to her father's ineptitude as a Death Eater. Or perhaps because she was a half-blood. Or a mixture of the two. Even if it wasn't something she bragged about, her family's bloodline wasn't exactly a secret either.

"I take it Draco couldn't be arsed to see me off?" Millicent asked drily. Blaise merely shrugged and Pansy gave a pained awkward smile.

"Said he was heading off on some mission," Blaise replied.

"-But he wished he could be here," Pansy added quickly, as if to soften the blow of the young man's absence. Millicent rolled her eyes, not surprised he was nowhere to be seen.

Before she could say anything further they were joined by another familiar presence. There was a soft pop as Bellatrix Lestrange appeared by Apparation.

She was both frightening and strikingly beautiful in a way that Millicent found mesmerizing. Her inky black hair curled in wild tendrils against her pale complexion, dark eyes scanning the faces of those in her presence. She carried herself with the fiery poise of a dark witch; a woman who knew her power and wielded it without mercy. It was this quality that Millicent secretly wished she possessed more than anything. It was what had drawn her to Lord Voldemort's ranks initially, hoping she could become something fierce too.

Now Millicent was simply hoping she made it through the night alive.

Blaise and Pansy could not meet Bellatrix's gaze as they murmured polite greetings. Slowly a smile began to camber across her red-stained lips as she addressed Millicent.

"Are you ready to do our Master's bidding, my dear?" Bellatrix asked with such a zealous fever in her tone. Her expectant expression begged Millicent to mirror the enthusiasm. The juxtaposition of Bellatrix's evident excitement and Millicent's dread could have been comical if the circumstances were different. While Bellatrix seemed like a child that had been given a pass to Honeydukes, Millicent was finding it hard to muster the same energy.

So she nodded instead and gave her friends one final goodbye embrace before following after Bellatrix into the forest. Millicent didn't look back at their disappearing figures, afraid that in doing so she would reveal the sudden fear pounding in her heart.

She walked quickly to match Bellatrix's step but pulled her hood up to hide her face. The calm exterior she had erected for the benefit of her friends was chipping away with each passing moment as they strode deeper into the forest. They followed the faint markers of a hunter's trail for an hour or so before the warm glow of several campfires ahead broke up the forest's dark abyss. She found the familiar crackle of the fire and the accompanying sounds of life comforting; it was as though if she used her imagination she could pretend she was simply enjoying a little camping holiday.

"We're here," Bellatrix said as they entered the camp.

Millicent assumed she was talking to her given that upon entering the site at least a dozen men, women and even several small children were already standing around to greet them. The only person who did not appear to acknowledge their arrival was a man lounging by the site's central-most campfire. His gaze never left the flicker of the flames as they approached.

"Move aside wolves," Bellatrix snapped impatiently. A few individuals snarled in reply but the small gathering still parted as the witch marched forward. Millicent did not make eye contact with any of them as she followed behind the older woman, gazing off at invisible point on the horizon.

"Are you not going to rise to greet us, Greyback?" Bellatrix asked with a huff in her voice as she stood in front of the seated man. From the light of the flames Millicent was surprised to see that the werewolf looked nothing like the images she had seen of him in wanted posters. He appeared younger, for instances, perhaps even in his late twenties. Shirtless, his toned body was marred with scars of various patterns. Even his face bore faint marks of a man who had seen his share of violence, including one long scar that passed from the corner of his left eye down the bridge of his nose. But it was Fenrir's eyes that were most striking of all; incredibly light they reflected the flames from the campfire and gave him a look of something altogether feral.

Fenrir's gaze shifted to Bellatrix, never blinking as he stood up slowly. He said nothing initially and the silence made Millicent uncomfortable. Even with her hood still drawn up she felt the heat rise on her cheeks when suddenly the werewolf looked past Bellatrix and straight at her.

"What have you brought me this evening, Death Eater?" He asked Bellatrix, flashing a wicked smile in Millicent's direction.

"A gift from the Dark Lord, as promised. Her name is Millicent Bulstrode," Bellatrix replied. She grabbed Millicent by the arm and pushed her forward with a hiss, "Don't be meek, girl."

The reproach in Bellatrix's voice forced Millicent to choke back her fear and regain some level of composure so that when she removed her hood she had the courage not to divert her eyes from the werewolf's piercing stare.

Millicent was many things but meek was not one of them. She matched his gaze evenly.

He advanced closer. Her resolve did not waiver until he stood mere inches from her face; she looked away slightly, her body trembling against her will to appear calm. If she ran now Millicent wondered who would strike her down first: The unhinged dark witch or the terrifying werewolf. Fenrir seemed to delight in the response he elicited, his laughter sounding like the low rumble of thunder.

"I like her," Fenrir noted. This should have given Millicent a sliver of comfort and yet she didn't know whether his approval meant she would make it past the first full moon or even through the night.

 _For all I know that means I will make a delicious snack for later_ , Millicent thought to herself.

"Well I will leave you to whatever it is you creatures do out here," Bellatrix said with a measure of disdain. She turned to Millicent, grabbing her by the chin as though addressing a child. "As for you, remember to make the Dark Lord proud."

Millicent was not sure what exactly that might entail nor was she in a position to inquire so she simply nodded silently. Satisfied that her part was done Bellatrix departed the camp and disappeared into the night.

Fenrir had returned to his seat by the fire and the small crowd slowly dispersed back to their individual campfires or tents, murmuring amongst themselves as they cast curious looks in her direction. Millicent was not sure what to think; her arrival was not nearly as eventful as she had imagined save the introduction to the werewolf Fenrir. She still wasn't sure whether she was a prisoner or a guest. Since no one had subdued her with shackles and taken her wand away Millicent leaned towards the latter.

Millicent saw that all but one other person remained behind. The young woman was a petite redheaded woman that seemed strangely familiar to Millicent. Perhaps realizing that she was the only person now in closest proximity to the newcomer, the stranger gave a resolved sigh as she accepted her role as the welcoming party. "Come on, let's find you a bed."

"The name's Morag," she said, leading Millicent to a nearby yurt. Inside revealed that the space had been charmed into a larger accommodation with several fur skins decorating the walls and floors. There were a series of lamps hanging around the perimeter of the circular room that revealed a few individual beddings had been made. Morag pointed to the one that would belong to Millicent. Given the lack of locks on the door and the prison-like cell she had anticipated the witch was steadily continuing to lean towards the guess her status was closer to guest then food.

"Millicent but most call me Millie," she replied. "Have we met before? You look familiar."

The red head nodded. "We were the same year at Hogwarts. I was a Ravenclaw, I think we might have been in a class or two together."

And suddenly Millicent connected this stranger with a vague memory of a girl in bronze and silver robes that sat next to her in Potions. The thought of Hogwarts clashed with the trappings of the new environment she found herself in. "How did you end up here?"

"I was bit in the summer of my fourth year," Morag replied matter-of-factly, making no sign that this was a bitter development for the former Hogwarts student. "Not by Fenrir or anyone from this pack but they took me in when my mum and dad kicked me out of the house."

"And do you like it here?" Millicent asked, both equally curious about the former

Ravenclaw's background but also not wanting to pry into the details of her transformation. Millicent knew next to nothing about werewolves and whether such a discussion was taboo among them but she wasn't going to take her chances. There was a saying among wizards never to piss off a werewolf and Millicent was keen to follow that adage.

"Didn't have much of anywhere else to go but I'd say it's not too bad. Fenrir looks after us. In the morning after patrols I could show you around if you want."

"I'd like that very much, thank you." Millicent replied and felt a sense of relief wash over her. Despite the circumstances, having someone like Morag around made Millicent feel more capable of handling the changes to her world. Even so, there were plenty of worries tugging at her thoughts but as she crawled into the unfamiliar bed Millicent welcomed the oblivion of sleep and the break from life's new reality it afforded her.

Millicent woke with her heart racing the next morning. Slowly she made sense of the unfamiliar place as the previous night's events caught up to her. The pallet of fur skins and down feathers was nothing like the king-size bed of her previous life. When she closed her eyes the witch imagined that she was back at her home, hundreds of miles away. She could see the sunlight trickling into her bedroom window and smell the aroma of morning's breakfast being prepared by the family house elf. Her father and two brothers would be at the table already drinking their tea as they heatedly discussed the latest Quidditch scores.

She missed their inane conversations and it hurt to think about them and that life that she might never have again. Millicent forced herself to untangle from the emotional pull of the memories that had seemed so inconsequential only days before.

"Oh good you're up," Morag greeted as she entered the yurt carrying a satchel over her shoulder.

"Morning," Millicent yawned.

Morag tossed the bag to Millicent who caught it with a puzzled expression. The former Ravenclaw stated simply, "Thought you could use some fresh clothes. Come have some breakfast with me when you've changed."

"Thanks," Millicent was grateful for the gift; she had not brought much of any personal belongings save her mother's cameo, her cloak, the clothes she was still wearing from the night before and lastly her wand. When Millicent opened the linen bag she found several simple cotton tunics and weathered buckskin leggings. She put the clothes on and while looking at the pile of her robes crumbled on the ground felt as though she was seeing a bit of herself being discarded. The new attire was like accepting the new normal that was going to be Millicent's life.

The verdict was still out as to how she felt about these changes.

So she slid her mother's cameo on and tucked her wand into the satchel. Millicent left the yurt to find Morag sitting at a close by fire chatting with a mousey looking young man. They paused in their conversation when Millicent approached.

"So this is the fresh meat I heard about," the male greeted. There was a mischievous look in his eyes that made Millicent assume he was joking but she also thought there might be was some literal truth to it.

"Tobey, you have a shit sense of humor," Morag said and slapped him hard on the shoulder. "Come on and have a seat and don't mind him. Tobey's only real talent is creating awkward situations."

"Aw, I was only joking," he said with a sheepish smile. He grabbed a skewer off the fire and offered a piece of roasted meat. "Friends?"

Millicent smiled slightly. She was still unsure of the person but knew it was in her best interest to accept friendship, and food for that matter, where she could find it. She sank her teeth into the food and was grateful that she recognized what it was instantly. Hunting had been a favorite pastime of her family and the smoky taste of the cooked hog was immensely comforting. But despite the relaxed setting, she could not forget that she was now a witch living among werewolves. An outsider. She was in survival-mode regardless of how friendly the two individuals in front of her seemed.

"So it's Millicent, right? Mo was telling me you two went to school together. Did you really ride brooms?"

"First year, yes; I wasn't too great at it," she said. "Did you not go to Hogwarts?"

Tobey shook his head, stirring his biscuit into a bowl of mush before taking a bite. It didn't look entirely too appetizing to Millicent. "I was bit before I got my letter. Ran away from home and never looked back on that wizarding school business."

"Well if it isn't a couple of pathetic omegas mingling with the witch. Why I am not surprised to find you two here," came a voice from behind Millicent. She turned to see the newcomer: Tall and waifish thin, her features gaunt and weathered by the sun. There was a fierceness in her emerald eyes that was reminiscent of Fenrir's from the night before but unlike him there was no mistaking the malice in her gaze.

"And you," she said as she stepped towards Millicent. Instinctively, Millicent stood to her feet. If she was going to be attacked, she preferred to do so standing and prepared. "Make no mistake, you may wear our clothes and eat our food but you are still just dinner."

The witch said and did nothing, as she stood toe-to-toe with the woman, her face a cool impenetrable mask. Where Fenrir had definitely stirred fear in her, this woman most certainly did not. Millicent had met her fair share of bullies in school and she was no different. Werewolf or not.

"Come on Lucy, we weren't bothering you any," Tobey mumbled although he had diverted his gaze submissively. Morag was looking at the ground as well, her expression solemn.

Lucy feigned a slight lurch at Millicent who didn't flinch before walking off with a cackle. As if she actually did anything, Millicent remarked to herself as she quirked an eyebrow.

"So I take it that's the head bitch in charge?" She asked bluntly to the two who were still looking ashamed as they raised their heads.

"You could say that," Morag replied. "At least she thinks she is the Alpha female."

"But really it's Fenrir who decides that," Tobey added and gauging Millicent's confused look he added. "In a pack you have a hierarchy: the betas and the omegas make up the majority of us and that is just sort of decided naturally by where you stand in the pecking order but there are only ever two Alphas. Our leader, Fenrir and his mate."

"And Lucy is his mate?" Millicent asked, fascinated.

"Not really," Morag said, rolling her eyes. "He hasn't chosen anyone yet. It's a big deal when an Alpha chooses his mate."

"Why?"

"Because they become partners for life and that mate represents the future of the pack too," Morag said shortly as if to hint that she did not want to talk any more about the subject. Both Tobey and Morag had been friendly and for the most part welcoming of Millicent but it was clear that there were only so many questions they were willing to answer for an outsider such as herself.

After breakfast, Morag and Tobey showed Millicent the camp. In the daylight, she could see it was much larger than she had thought the night before with various tents and yurts and even hammocks in the trees peppering the surrounding landscape. What surprised Millicent the most was the presence of children gleefully playing. She knew the lore of werewolves stealing children in the middle of the night, they had been told to her in her youth to keep her from misbehaving but now she wasn't sure if the old witch's tales were true. Despite the rugged trappings of the camp the people seemed to be prosperous.

Awhile later, the two werewolves left Millicent as they tended to their chores. Not yet designated with any tasks of her own she wandered down to the river where she had been told was used for bathing. It was a bright cloudless day and the warmth of the sun was a pleasant contrast to the winter's cold crisp air. As she approached the riverbank she took off her boots and slipped her feet into the water, confirming it's frigid temperature she had already suspected.

Caught in the internal debate of how bathing would work in the long winter months without dying of hypothermia Millicent didn't notice immediately the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Hello, witch," said the slow familiar voice she recognized from the night before. Millicent turned to see Fenrir appearing from a small hunter's trail just a few feet away from where she was. Even as he approached her relaxed there was still something predatorily about his gait that made every part of Millicent go on high alert. His eyes were a piercing gold in the light of day and she found herself hypnotized by their gaze so much so that she had forgotten to return the greeting.

"Care to join me?" He asked with a disarming playfulness. And before Millicent could reply he stripped down and dove into the water with a loud splash. Speechless and blushing, Millicent looked away from the river as if that would change the fact that she just saw every inch of the werewolf's sun-soaked body only a moment ago.

"I'd rather not," she replied, attempting (and failing sorely) to look nonchalant and mask her flushed cheeks at the same time. "Aren't you freezing?"

"My kind runs hot-blooded," he offered with a shrug, wading in the water. With an inquisitive expression Fenrir asked, "tell me witch does the naked body embarrass you?"

"No, I just don't want to swim," she answered stubbornly, stealing glances at Fenrir while still trying to mask her obvious embarrassment. Such was the case that her blushing cheeks did not, for that matter, evade Fenrir's attention. In fact, he seemed entirely amused by her reaction.

"I would, however, like to know what exactly is going on."

"Currently? I am enjoying a swim and you are not," he replied.

"That's not what I meant, Greyback. What are you going to do with me? "

"Did you have something in mind?" He asked playfully. Was Fenrir Greyback flirting with her? Millicent wondered, both simultaneously excited and frustrated at the same time. There was no mistaking how incredibly handsome the werewolf was and the intensity of his gaze was secretly thrilling. However Millicent sensed he was also toying with her and a flicker of annoyance crossed her expression. Surely she had a right to know what her fate would be living among the werewolves?

"Were you Marked by him?" He asked when Millicent did not answer, gesturing to her forearm.

"No," she answered, shaking her head. "I pledged myself but never got a chance to serve the Dark Lord before I was brought here."

"Interesting," he said cryptically. But before Millicent could ask him what he found so interesting about that piece of information she heard Tobey's nearby voice calling her name.

"Run along then, witch," Fenrir said with a smile. "I will see you soon."

The young woman gave a quick nod and walked off wordlessly. But even as she retreated, Millicent could not help but feel the gaze of the werewolf as she moved away. A part of her wondered what was going through his mind but as she reflected on the nature of the beast within him she concluded that perhaps she was better off not knowing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

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"What do you want to do with the witch?" Gabriel asked dryly. The alpha's pack lieutenant was lounging against a tree as they rested; Fenrir was drinking from a canteen beside him, his mind occupied with the responsibilities of being the leader of his pack. Their travels had taken them far from home that day but the troubles of his people were never too far from his thoughts. Winter was at their doorstep and their supplies needed to be fortified along with the protective wards that safeguarded them from outsiders. And of course there was a war looming ahead that he had committed them to fight.

But it was the mention of the witch that gave him something else to ponder.

"I don't know yet," Fenrir stated and let the topic die. Even if there was more either of them had wish to say on the subject, Gabriel knew better then to push for further answers from the pack leader. Their friendship spanned over a decade and with that brought a level of mutual understanding between the two. Like knowing when to push forward and when to leave something well alone.

And while Fenrir knew this was a necessary conversation, he quite simply didn't have an answer. Because she wasn't just a witch.

Her name was Millicent and she was much, much more.

But what, was the pressing question that had bounced around the werewolf's head for days and he replayed their encounter for the rest of his trek home that afternoon.

 _While the human mind had the capacity for deceit, the wolf's heart did not. It was driven by instinct, not doubt nor insecurity; therefore while the man in him could lie Fenrir knew the wolf would not. Which was why he took notice when the animalistic part of himself stirred the night she had arrived. He sensed her presence like a nudge on his mind and the closer she got the stronger it felt until the shadows of the forest gave way and she arrived at his camp alongside the dark witch Bellatrix._

 _Voldemort's offering had been some nameless body, a sacrifice for the pack's amusement. What Fenrir received instead was someone entirely unexpected._

 _He was fascinated with her on the most primal level. And while she smelled of fear in that moment they met, she also had the scent of wild ocean winds, of bergamot and something else entirely new and exciting. It hit him like he had been doused with a bottle of amortentia. He didn't know how to process the experience but the wolf in him did._

 _He had to get closer to this captivating woman._

 _She's mine, the canine within growled. Over and over again, it's voice a deafening roar in Fenrir's head. She met his gaze, unblinking. Whatever fear he could smell on her skin was nothing compared to the fierceness in her eyes. From that moment forward he knew his plans had changed. That this young woman, whoever she was, was now under his protection._

Fenrir had wanted to keep his distance at first, to let her find her place in their community but he sensed her presence in every waking moment and the pull to seek her out was incredibly powerful.

Luckily his work kept him busy. During the day he often lead scouting missions, sometimes meeting with the Death Eaters or negotiating territorial lines with the centaurs. Sometimes he would roam near a hundred miles before he could no longer smell her. Each night of that first week he returned to their home base and saw with relief that she was still real, that this interesting new person in his world was of flesh and blood. He could see her smile as she sat gathered by the far end of the campfire alongside two young omegas and it stirred something in his heart he didn't think was fathomable.

"Fenrir, it's time," just then a voice broke his reverie.

Gabriel approached him from the shadows. It was evening now at the pack's campsite. Fenrir was perched in his usual seat, staring into the fire. His eyes bounced from Gabriel to the other werewolves accompanying him. Behind Gabriel were two others, each holding the arm of a man struggling to break from their hold. By now the other members of the pack, sensing what was going to happen, had stopped their conversations. Some of them with younger children disappeared into yurts but those that remained were now standing completely still as they looked to their leader.

"Bring him forward," Fenrir commanded quietly. Wordlessly the two werewolves marched their captive forward and released their grip so that he went tumbling to his knees. "Hello, Corbin."

"Please, sir!" The person known as Corbin screamed with desperation. His voice was frantic, his eyes wide with fear. He did not make any attempt to proclaim his innocence or even feign confusion as to why he was being hauled before the Alpha. Fenrir knew his crimes and so did the other werewolf.

Suddenly now Fenrir's voice rose so that the other members of the pack could hear him clearly, his tone was neutral and devoid of any emotion, "We have strict rules against hunting humans without prior sanction. You killed a girl less then 30 kilometers from our camp, endangering us all with your disregard. You have thererfore been brought forward tonight charged with endangerment to our pack and breaking your alpha's law. How do you plead?"

"I am so sorry, Fenrir," he blubbered.

"Guilty, then." The alpha werewolf replied matter-of-factly.

"I couldn't help myself."

"Execution or exile?" Fenrir simply asked.

"PLEASE FENRIR!"

"Be a wolf, not a coward. Accept the consequences of your actions," the werewolf leader said sternly. In that moment his eyes flashed a deep amber, reflecting the nature of the beast that lived with him. The young man unsheathed a dagger from his side and handed it to Fenrir, whispering in the weakest voice: "Exile."

The dagger, symbolic of one's place in the pack, was tossed into the fire by Fenrir.

"Very well. I hereby denounce you as a member of our pack and banish you from our territories. You will not call upon us as friend or packmate ever again."

And suddenly Fenrir's words were punctuated with a chorus of howls from the members of the pack. With their voices carried their support of their Alpha's decision. No longer one of their own, Corbin was considered a lone wolf, a stranger to their people. He casted one last pitiful look to his former Alpha before breaking into a sprint as he ran into the darkness of the forest.

"He should have chosen death," muttered Morag as she settled back down by the fire. Some of the werewolves had taken to chasing their former packmate off their land, others had retired to their homes while a handful remained by the main campfire. Morag, Tobey and Millicent were of the latter group.

Millicent had witnessed the entire scene with a mix of interest and alarm. Justice had been served so quickly she was still trying to register the details of the event that had just transpired. Altogether she was mostly surprised by Fenrir's mercy. Such wasn't the case among Voldemort's crowd as she had seen in her brief encounters with them. Millicent had only attended a handful of meetings alongside her father and brothers but each time she had witnessed how generous the Dark Lord was with his crucio curse. Leadership-wise, Fenrir and Lord Voldemort were light years apart.

"Why do you say that? Between death and freedom, it seems like a pretty easy choice."

"Exile isn't freedom," Morag said with a growl, poking the embers of their campfire in annoyance. Millicent couldn't tell if she was annoyed by her statement or the situation in general.

"It's a fate worse than death for a werewolf," Tobey added. "A werewolf's pack is their lifeline, it's where they get their strength from."

"Their strength?" Millicent asked but before either of her companions could answer their conversation was interrupted by the presence of Fenrir.

"Good evening," he greeted with a warm smile. To Millicent's surprise, he looked to her and asked. "Will you take a walk with me?"

She glanced at Morag and Tobey who said nothing before nodding as she got to her feet. Millicent could not mask her curiosity towards the alpha werewolf but even in her interest, she was also cautious. Despite his disarming grin and playfulness at the river (not to mention lack of inhibitions) Millicent could not forget that she was in the presence of Britain's most infamous werewolf, the savage Fenrir Greyback. It didn't make sense that he was nothing like she had expected him to be in both appearance and demeanor.

But while her mind told her she should be fearful, neither the darkened trails nor the company she kept seemed at all off-putting. In fact it seemed perfectly natural.

"I hope you have been making yourself at home," Fenrir said.

"Yes," she answered. "Morag and Tobey have been very kind to me and no one has tried to eat me yet."

"Good," he said with a laugh, "and tonight's events didn't alarm you did they?"

"Every place has it's rules," Millicent said as she shrugged. Even if she did not understand much about the werewolves she could comprehend the necessity of order. Fenrir wasn't just the one that made decisions but enforced them as well. She thought about the scene and Corbin's crime; Millicent was surprised that it was against their customs to hunt humans but she didn't want to say as much in case it came out as though she was passing judgment on them. Despite what she had been told all her life that werewolves were without morals and generally senseless creatures Millicent had already come to put much of her preconceived notions aside.

Fenrir sensed her hesitancy and guessed the nature of her pause. "Our rules keep us safe. We don't hunt humans without cause. That was Corbin's first offense. His second was by taking the life of a girl so close to our home he has drawn unwanted attention to our area, possibly risking our entire community. There are many who would want to do us harm."

"Tobey said a werewolf get their strength from their pack, that exile was worse than death but I still don't really know what that means," Millicent said as they strolled down the path. Millicent had spent the better part of the past week trying to learn about this new world she lived in but feeling like Alice jumping down the rabbit hole.

"It's true on the surface there is strength in numbers. Out there in your wizarding world we are outcasts and second-class citizens; without one's pack he will be alone," Fenrir explained. "But there is also a little more to it. A werewolf's magic is tied to their pack; when that thread is cut they lose some of that magic. It's painful, like losing a piece of yourself I am told."

"I see," Millicent nodded. She could understand the safety of being with a group versus being alone. In many ways it was similar to her years as a Slytherin. Being in one of the most hated houses of Hogwarts was enough to leave a vulnerable 11-year-old feeling like a social pariah shortly after donning the Sorting Hat. She had found safety and solace in her fellows of the green and silver. It might have come to a surprise to others outside her house but among her fellow Slytherins she was rarely treated any differently even for being a half-blood. She had been Slytherin first and that mattered a great deal to her peers.

She thought of Pansy and Blaise, and even Draco and Theodore. Their days of sitting in the house common room seemed far away now and the memory of them stung slightly. How strange to think she would never sit by the fireplace and listen to one of Draco's inane stories or have Pansy practice beauty spells on her hair.

"But perhaps there is something else you would like to talk about?" Fenrir asked and Millicent couldn't help but find herself enamored with his roguish smile as it stole her away from her trip down memory lane. There was no mistaking the fierceness about him that made others dread his name and yet there was something altogether intriguing about Fenrir too.

Why are you so damn attractive? Millicent wanted to say. What she did say, however was:

"Yes, actually. I need something to do."

"I could think of a few things," he laughed and she blushed reflexively.

"I meant a job, Fenrir!" She scolded him with feigned indignation, which only made the werewolf chuckle more. "Everyone around here has a purpose and if I am going to be living here I want to contribute."

And so after a little more teasing, the werewolf found a job for her. The following day she joined Morag on patrols, weaving through the dense forest trees with less ease then her werewolf friend. Part of assimilating into the werewolf pack's community was making herself useful to them. The witch noted that everyone, young and old, carried out some responsibility or another for the pack. Perhaps, she figured, if I was useful I could make it past the first moon with these people.

Even so, she regarded the shape of the moon each night and counted down the remaining days she had left to find a safe place among the werewolves. For all his flirting, Fenrir didn't seem keen on serving her up like steak tartar but she nonetheless needed to manage her options.

"Keep up, Mil; I ain't going to carry you back!" Morag taunted over her shoulder.

"Don't worry about little ol' me," Millicent huffed, "I can get myself along just fine."

Despite her athleticism, not much could have prepared the witch for keeping up with the fast and deft pace of the female werewolf. Morag moved agilely through the brush without so much as a single stumble, meanwhile Millicent trudged forward with a lot less grace.

Suddenly she came to a halt when Morag threw her hand up to stop her. Silently the redheaded werewolf pointed to a nearby deer. And before Millicent knew what was going on Morag darted towards the animal at a blinding speed.

Dagger unsheathed, she sprang upon the deer and had it's throat slashed with one swift movement of the blade. Almost instantly the animal was dead.

"Lunch is on me!" Morag shouted gleefully after a long moment.

Hunting, as it turned out, was a major part of Millicent's job. In the cold winter season that was upon them, fresh meat was a prized commodity. And while she was nowhere near as skilled as Morag when it came to such attempts she did prove her worth in catching rabbits and squirrels with well-placed snares.

What marveled Millicent was how well they survived as a people with very little outside resources or even use of wand magic.

"Some werewolves think wands are symbols of the wizard's oppression over us," Morag had explained when Millicent asked about the lack of their use among the camp-dwellers. "I'm not that daft about it personally. I still have mine, somewhere. It doesn't get much use though."

"But wouldn't it be easier to use magic for things?" Millicent asked, instinctively patting the satchel at her side where her wand still remained.

"And who's to say we don't have our own way of using magic?" Morag retorted but when Millicent's curiosity was piqued, the redhead had nothing more to say in the matter. Apparently there were some secrets among the werewolves Millicent was just not meant to be privy of.

That night in her dreams Millicent was home. But not the home she knew it to be now but rather the one of her childhood where it was still full of love. For one thing, her mother was still alive in these dreams.

Millicent lived in a seaside manor overlooking the crashing waves of the northern coast. At one point it had been a light tower she was told but over the centuries her family had built a sprawling estate around it. The tower still stood as a testament to the land's history and as a youth she would spend lazy summer days climbing to the top of it's spiral staircase where she could watch the waves kiss the rocks.

On other days she would run through her family's garden pretending she lived in a far off forest. For hours Millicent would spend in this make-believe world, dozing off under a bergamot tree until either her mother or their house elf came for her. Only now in these dreams she is not a child but her adult self and it is not one of them that take her hand but a certain werewolf with shocking gold eyes and a devilish grin. He would lean close to her and just before their lips would meet she would wake up with a start.

Bloody hell, Millicent thought to herself as she was stirred back to the waking world.

It was some point before dawn she guessed although the measure of time seemed nonexistent among werewolves. Unable to sleep she grabbed her cloak and tip-toed quietly from the yurt she shared with Morag. Outside, the sharp winter cold nearly stole the air from her lunges. She exhaled hard and watched her breath condense in a small cloud before her face.

The sun would be up in a few hours but the moon and her court of stars still dotted the sky. Millicent knew the full moon was edging closer. If not by the physical evidence in the sky above then by the behavior of werewolves around her who seemed to be affected by the upcoming event. There was a sense of tension even among Tobey and Morag in the days leading up to the full moon.

Each day she went out on patrols she asked Morag what she thought was going to happen when the full moon came. Despite their budding friendship, Morag offered little reassurance other then to say, "Not sure but Fenrir seems to like you so that's good." At this point Millicent realized she had only a handful of options: A.) Escape, which seemed ridiculous given that she was in the company of the best hunters the world had to offer not to mention it probably wouldn't go over well with the Dark Lord. She was not going to defy one of the most powerful wizards. B.) Convince them to keep her around (which was the current working plan) or C.) Use her knowledge of magic to somehow keep herself safe when the time came. There was another option, one that she had not entertained and refused to give any mind: Ask to become a werewolf. But that idea made her uncomfortable and Millicent wasn't sure she was willing to take that jump.

She had considered Option C and the possibility of making some sort of ward around her yurt.

After all she still had her wand.

Except then Millicent remembered that she had flunked every subject at Hogwarts, including Charms. Which was why Millicent figured Option B was probably her best bet at surviving her first month with the werewolves.

Standing outside her own residence she could see the dim light of a lantern glow in Fenrir's yurt. The light and the promise of his company seemed to call to her even though Millicent wasn't sure why she felt compelled to knock on the door of his home.

"Come in," she heard him say and Millicent felt her heart pounding. In some ways she felt like a schoolgirl trying to work up the courage to say 'hi' to her crush. Except in this case it wasn't some boy but a 6'3'' man. A very handsome man who currently was not wearing a shirt.

"DO YOU EVER WEAR CLOTHES?" Millicent blurted out.

He raised an eyebrow, speaking without the slightest hint of modesty: "I am wearing pants this time."

"Sorry," she said and her cheeks flushed. Millicent cursed the way her face betrayed her emotions but Fenrir didn't make any remark about it as he simply smiled at Millicent. She fidgeted with her cloak, "I don't want to bother you but I saw your light was on and I figured two insomniacs together is better than being alone."

"I am glad you came for a visit," he said and there was a glitter of mischief in his gaze. The same eyes that had woven themselves into her dreams each night, becoming a fixation even in her waking mind. Waving for her to sit wherever, he offered her the flask perched on his desk. "Drink?"

"A bit early for it, don't you think?" She asked as she took it from him.

"It's late enough depending on one's perspective," he retorted which seemed sound enough for Millicent as she took a sip. The liquid spilled across the back of her throat like a sharp flame, a welcome contrast to the bitter cold outside. She took another swig from the flask and savored the taste before giving it back.

"Apparently the witch can drink," he remarked to himself in amusement.

"Well we all have to be good at something," Millicent replied with a shrug.

Fenrir chuckled. "From what others have told me you are not a bad huntress either. I don't suppose that was taught in your wizarding school."

"No way," Millicent said, trying to imagine her pureblood friends sullying their robes in such an activity. "Growing up I was the youngest of three, any time my old man took my brothers hunting I came along too. I don't think he was keen on it but he let me tag along anyways."

"Do you miss them?" He asked and Millicent was surprised by the question. The way Fenrir regarded her in that moment made Millicent feel that if she had said yes, he might have let her go. But under the scrutiny of his hypnotic gold eyes Millicent felt compelled to be truthful. She paused for a moment to consider his words before shaking her head.

The first few days she had arrived at the pack's camp she certainly had missed the familiarity of home. She missed f knowing what to expect most of all but living with the werewolves had so far not been what she could have imagined. In a very good way. It felt like an adventure. And she liked hanging out with Tobey and Morag, mostly because there were no pretenses with them. No forced conversations about betrothals and bloodlines, none of the sort of nonsense Pansy and the other Slytherin students would go on about each and every day. She could breathe in the fresh forest air each and every day and spend her afternoons hunting (something she had always been far better at than her witchcraft).

"Not really, to be honest," Millicent quietly said. She thought about her father, the man who had played a part in sending his only daughter to live with werewolves. She thought of her brothers, whom she loved, but they too had failed her. When the Dark Lord had commanded her to go to the werewolves, none of them had so much looked up from their feet let alone spoke up on her behalf. She did not begrudge them their choice and after all, Millicent had left of her own accord. It did not matter in the end, they were in many ways a family in name only.

"I cannot believe I am saying this but things between me and them haven't been good for a long time."

"You would rather live with werewolves?" He questioned, his head slightly tilted to the side.

"Well, it beats flunking out of Hogwarts," she joked drily. "So long as you don't plan on killing me during the full moon I think this place will be alright."

"No harm will come to you among my people," Fenrir replied with a serious tone. "You have my promise of that."

Millicent was relieved. It was the first time she had heard the words be said and it lifted a weight from her shoulders. Despite her practiced calm and self-depreciating albeit morbid humor she used to cope with a situation out of her control, Millicent had carried the fear that her days were numbered. That all of Fenrir's charm was to keep her placated until the time came. But when he looked at her she didn't get the feeling she was being conned.

If he said she was safe then surely he meant it.

A few hours later the night sky waned into the early signs of day. Millicent had dozed off in Fenrir's yurt and woke with a blanket covering her and no sign of the packleader in sight. When she stepped outside the rest of the community was bustling with their morning routines. Morag and Tobey were seated in their normal spots by their shared campfire and as soon as she made eye contact she could sense the conversation that was about to ensue.

"Looks like someone had a good morning," Tobey said with a cheeky smile. He looked as though he had just crawled out of bed himself, his brown hair in a messy array.

"I had wondered where you ran off to," Morag commented with a wink. "Good for you."

"That is definitely not what happened."

"You don't have to be awkward about it with me; it's not my business who you shag," Morag said bluntly as she took a sip from her mug. "Sex isn't really taboo around here like it is with wizards."

"Fine, but that's not what happened," Millicent repeated defensively although she saw the futility in arguing the point any further. It did not matter, as neither of the two werewolves believed her anyways. Apparently they had not been the only ones watching her as she left Fenrir's yurt. She looked around the campsite to see Lucy's withering gaze locked on her.

Fantastic, Millicent thought to herself sarcastically.

"I'd look away unless you have a death wish," Morag said quietly as she noticed the silent interaction.

"Well now it's a pride issue," Millicent replied back, her eyes never moving from female werewolf. As far as Millicent was concerned, some things could overpower one's sense of self-preservation. Not being intimidated by a female werewolf with jealousy issues was one thing for instance.

"Mills, please," Morag and Tobey both persisted, both growing increasingly uncomfortable.

But when she didn't acknowledge them, suddenly Millicent's concentration was broken when Tobey poured his entire mug in her lap.

"HEY!" She sprang from her seat.

"Sorry love, but Morag wasn't kidding. You don't want to get into it with that one," Tobey said while Millicent fumed. Covered in tea, she stormed off without another word but Morag was quick to follow after her.

"Don't be too cross with him. He's not that bright but he really was trying to save you," Morag began but Millicent cut her off as she spun on her.

"I know what he was trying to do," she said. "But do you really think it would have made any difference? I get that you all have your hierarchy around here but I've met plenty of folks just like her. You cannot give them the satisfaction of intimidating you."

"It isn't that simple," Morag insisted. But Millicent had already disappeared back into the yurt to change, pointedly ending the discussion.

The redheaded werewolf huffed. She is too tough for her own good, that one. And even though Millicent knew Morag was right and she had forgiven Tobey almost instantly, she would not fall into line when it came to the likes of Lucy.

Werewolf hierarchy or not, Millicent was not one to be bullied.

By afternoon she had squared things away with Morag and Tobey during their patrols. With the day's fresh kill slung over their shoulders, they returned to a commotion in the camp's center. Fenrir was standing at the front of the group with Gabriel, Lucy and several other werewolves flanking him.

As they got closer, Millicent heard him address the gathered pack members: "We still do not have all the details but the message said that our satellite pack had been attacked by the Order."

There was a frenzied murmur among the pack members but the voices fell silent when Fenrir raised his hand. His jaw was set in a stern expression, devoid of the playfulness Millicent had come to expect from him. "I am going to investigate matters myself. Some of you will come with me while the rest will stay behind and manage things here. In the meantime I want double patrols along our perimeters and for the children to be kept close to camp."

Everyone nodded obediently and as the crowd dispersed to carry out his wishes Fenrir approached the trio. He gave an acknowledging glance to Tobey and Morag before turning his attention to Millicent. "I must go and check on the survivors but I

I will return before the full moon."

"Stay safe," she said.

"I will," Fenrir said with a warm smile and his gaze shifted to the other two werewolves, "and you two, do keep an eye on our witch here. Make sure she stays safe as well."

"You have our word, sir," Morag replied.

"What she said, sir," Tobey added but Millicent could tell by his sideward glance to her that he wanted to say something further. It wasn't until Fenrir left them that Tobey muttered quietly to himself but Millicent could hear him say, "Just don't make our work any harder for us."

Even so Millicent was not about to make any promises.


	3. Chapter 3

"What did you bring me today, witch?" The old woman croaked as Millicent approached with the day's kill. As the first fall of snow approached food had been becoming more scarce but today she had several rabbits and even a raccoon to show for her efforts. The camp's head cook was a matronly werewolf who looked to be about at least hundred year's old and if she had a name, Millicent had yet to hear it. Everyone had simply referred to her as "Nan". She was weathered and her face scarred. The old woman's eyes appeared partially shifted to her wolf form with their deep orange hue. Millicent thought she resembled what the wolf might have looked like when it was dressed up as Little Red Riding Hood's grandmother.

Nearly every moment of the day Nan could be found on her perch, a small stump positioned in the middle of the outdoor kitchen. It had several large fire pits and various stations where younger members of the pack followed Nan's commands.

"A bit more than yesterday, Nan." Millicent said as she laid the animals on the nearby table.

"Bring some deer back next time," the old woman said sternly.

"I'll do my best," Millicent said, putting on a sweet smile. She retrieved a bundled handkerchief from inside her satchel and handed it to the aging werewolf. "I found a dragonberry bush today and thought you could use these."

The woman gave her an approving nod. Which was apparently the highest compliment one might get from Nan.

She's warming up to me, Millicent thought to herself.

It was late afternoon and Millicent noticed that most around her were resting, either tucked away in their homes or under a tree. Even the resident children that normally Millicent saw boisterously sparring with each other were curled up in hammocks. The pack members were conserving their energy for the night ahead.

The full moon.

Each hour meant another moment closer to the winter's early sunset and as she looked around Millicent tried to imagine what the evening would have in store for her. Fenrir had yet to return from his voyage to the satellite pack's camp and Millicent tried not acknowledge the anxiety rising in her mind as she waited for the pack leader.

He had given his word that she would be safe but she wondered what would happen if he was not present to enforce that promise? For the most part the members of the pack did not seem to bothered by her presence. But all the same, Millicent felt uneasy without Fenrir around. Mostly because Lucy had stayed behind and she didn't think the female werewolf would hesitate in coming after her once the night was upon them.

By now the nearby rivers and lakes had frozen over and the grass beneath her boots crunched with each step she took. Millicent still depended on either Morag or Tobey to lead her on patrols when they crossed over dense brush and unfamiliar forest terrain but otherwise Millicent had grown comfortable with the small winding trails around the camp's exterior perimeter.

Millicent tried to think about other matters but her mind continued to wander back to the full moon and approaching transformation of the pack members. She cursed herself for not paying closer attention to the werewolf chapter in her Defense Against the Dark Arts class. As she walked down the trail her mind wandered.

 _"Did you hear the news?" Blaise had asked with a conspiratorial tone. The two were eating their Saturday breakfast at the Slytherin table, a weekly tradition they had maintained since their very first weekend at Hogwarts. Perhaps the only two students to be awake at such an early hour, they were the only ones in the Great Hall._

 _"Did Crabbe accidentally get his wand stuck in his ear again?" Millicent replied drily as she sipped her tea._

 _"I swear, you are no fun sometimes Millie. No, it's about Professor Lupin. Students are saying he's a werewolf," Blaise said and waited for the appropriate level of surprise from Millicent._

 _Unfortunately, she did not deliver._

 _"Werewolf? Really? And Filch is a vampire I'm sure," Millicent retorted, wiping crumbs off her black and green robes. She was incredulous of the claim long after Blaise's gossip became common knowledge among the students._

Prior to living with the werewolf pack, Professor Lupin had been the only werewolf Millicent had interacted with. As she trudged through the forest she thought about the former instructor. He was nothing like the werewolves she knew now; he had been sickly, a perpetual fatigue that seemed to lurk behind his benevolent demeanor. She wondered why he hadn't joined his own kind. They had little in ways of luxury but it seemed that still amounted to more than what any assimilated werewolves could have in the wizarding world.

He had been surprisingly kind to her and the other Slytherin students though and for that she gave him a pass. Whereas other professors seemed to only begrudgingly give her housemates credit for their successes, Lupin had at the very least praised all of his students with equal enthusiasm. Even Millicent who probably fell asleep in his class more often than not.

"What's it like? To transform?" Millicent had asked Tobey the other day.

"Painful and amazing at the same time," Tobey replied. "You get used to it though. It hurts less if you don't fight against the transformation."

"Will you still be you when you're the wolf?" Millicent asked.

"For the most part," Tobey said.

Millicent was brimming with questions and often only received half-answers from her friends. She was sure they were being intentionally vague but tried not to take it personal. Sometimes though, they did tell her something of interest.

"And what about that one potion," Millicent tried to ask, the gears in her mind grinding as she tried to remember a lesson from years ago. "Wolfsbane I think it was?"

"Completely a wizard's invention," Morag said with an expression of disdain. "No member of the pack would ever use it. Honestly, it does more harm than good because it creates a false assumption that a werewolf needs it to function in their true form. We aren't sick or disabled. We don't need to be medicated."

"So you don't need it then?"

"No!" Morag replied, growing slightly heated. "Because we don't fight the wolf or try to sedate it. There is no power struggle between the human and wolf for us, they work together. Fenrir has taught us not to fear the beast that the wizarding society wants us to hate in ourselves."

Millicent's mind continued to drift back to the conversation, comparing the narrow scope she had once possessed of werewolves to what she now was discovering about their world. She wandered aimlessly through the forest, consumed in her thoughts.

"I hope it's been fun pretending to be one of us," came a voice from behind Millicent. She turned quickly to see Lucy jump down from a tree branch with prenatural grace. "Because I am going to enjoy killing you tonight."

"Piss off," Millicent spat, her eyes narrowing at the blonde woman.

"How about this, I will be a good sport and give you a running start. I bet you could get some distance if you leave now."

"I am not afraid of you, Lucy. Go find someone else to bother," Millicent shot back as she walked past the werewolf and headed towards camp. She refused to look behind but the entire time Millicent could feel the werewolf's gaze boring holes into her.

"It will be alright," Morag tried to reassure her but she was distracted. Millicent saw all of the werewolves around her were behaving slightly strange, anxious even. Tobey had said it was something about the moon's magic mixing with their own, calling them.

The sun was setting fast, disappearing beyond the horizon and ushering in the night.

"How do you figure that?" Millicent asked, her heart beginning to race as the darkness descended upon them. "Fenrir isn't back and—"

There wasn't time for her to explain Lucy's threat before a loud piercing howl shattered the night air. All around her the members of the pack were falling to their knees, bones cracking and contorting into their new form.

Shit, Millicent cursed and immediately retrieved her wand. She clutched it with a white-knuckle grip, feeling a very real fear rising in her chest. Morag and Tobey were mere feet from her but they were no longer recognizable. The fight or flight instinct in her ignited and every fiber of her body told her to run.

When the transformation was complete Millicent was standing surrounded by massive wolves in all directions. It was unlike anything she had ever seen before; certainly nothing like the images she recalled from her textbooks. The size of large bears, the werewolves stood like ethereal creatures. Devastatingly beautiful and lethal at the same time.

She guessed which ones were Tobey and Morag by their proximity but also the deep red tone of one's fur and the messy brown of the other. They turned to her and Millicent remained perfectly still as they regarded her with intent. Thankfully, she still sensed the presence of their human selves behind their yellow wolf eyes. At the very least they weren't growling at her.

But Millicent knew she couldn't relax.

Because no sooner had they transformed did Millicent see a sandy blonde-furred wolf camber towards her slowly, deliberately. She didn't need to guess who it could be. Lucy had wasted no time in seeking her out. The blonde wolf snarled and Millicent could see the rest of the pack move in closer, trailing behind Lucy silently.

Morag and Tobey maneuvered in front of Millicent, effectively putting themselves between her and Lucy. She remembered their promise to Fenrir and suddenly the witch was no longer afraid just for herself but her two friends as well. But before she could think much further about the plight of putting them in harm's way another wolf marched in front of her. Small, frail and incredibly ancient the graying wolf returned Lucy's snarl with a ferocious one of her own.

Nan.

Lucy snapped at the three other werewolves, her lips pulled back to bare sharp teeth. Morag and Tobey were shaking, ears flat against their heads. Millicent witnessed their fear and sensed their struggle; according to pack hierarchy, Millicent could only guess that for two omegas standing up Lucy was no easy task. Nan on the other hand was more collected, the hackles of her graying fur were raised and she responded to Lucy with a low growl. Clearly the old werewolf was not intimidated.

Millicent wanted to smile had the situation not been dire. _I owe this old lady a whole lot more than a deer_ , she thought to herself.

Suddenly Lucy bolted forward and was met by the three other werewolves. She sank her teeth into Morag's shoulder, nearly missing her throat and the red-furred wolf let out a howl of pain.

Lucy darted past Nan but was stopped by Tobey.

He lurched towards her paws, she evaded. She grabbed him by the back of his neck and rattled him like a rag doll before letting go. The witch clutched her wand, wondering if she had it in her to use an Unforgivable Curse. Millicent knew there was no time to ponder the morality of using one.

It's now or never, she convinced herself.

Wand raised, the words danced on her lips as Lucy's wolf form barreled down upon her. The werewolf dodged a hex, closing the gap between them quickly.

Say it and mean it, the witch commanded herself.

But her time was up.

The last remaining distance between them was gone as the wolf sprang upon Millicent.

It was all over in an instant.

"AVA-" Millicent's scream caught in her throat as a blur of movement rushed past her, knocking her over. Suddenly a much larger wolf had Lucy pinned to the ground, it's jaw locked onto her throat.

Every creature watched, suddenly cowering. She watched as every wolf, including the wounded Morag and Tobey submissively tucked their tail and crawled to their stomachs.

It took Millicent a moment for her adrenaline to subside enough to realize who it was. She barely noticed that her wand-dominant hand was bleeding from her grip, and that she had been holding her breath. Lucy, still pinned under the weight of Fenrir's hold, began to whine in both acquiescence and fear.

Fenrir released her but the female werewolf didn't immediately move. It was only when the Alpha werewolf let a loud booming bark that she began to slowly move away, her eyes never meeting Fenrir's. The other wolves did the same and the silence as they crept away into the darkness of the night was altogether eerie. Save but the glow of their eyes, they seemed to disappear instantly into the darkness of the forest.

And suddenly Millicent was alone with the exception of Fenrir. She was still in disbelief and felt herself shaking against her will. Fenrir turned and regarded her; if she had any doubt to who it was within the wolf's body, his sharp eyes were unmistakable.

"You have no idea how happy I am to see you," Millicent eventually said haggardly although she was not sure if he would even be able to understand her in his wolf form. The wolf stepped forward until he was only an arms length from where she sat.

Once the terror of nearly being torn apart by Lucy had faded, Millicent felt overwhelmed with awe of the creature in front of her so much so that she nearly gasped. The white fur of the Alpha seemed almost pearlescent under the moonlight. It reflected the light and had a glow that made him look like the moon itself had been incarnated into fur. She hesitated before reaching out and touching his shoulder, the soft bristle of his fur under her fingertips confirming that this creature was indeed real.

"You are," she said in breathless amazement, "incredible."

As distant howling echoed from within the forest all around them, Fenrir carefully nudged her back to his yurt.

"Please…stay," Millicent said and was embarrassed by the pleading tone in her voice. He paused at the doorframe and she once again wondered if he understood her words. Millicent had made her best effort to appear as though the evening's run-in with Lucy had made no impression on her but in truth it had. There was a nagging alarm in the back of her head that still feared Lucy would return during the night to finish matters.

After a moment, the wolf entered the yurt. He took up much of the room's space despite the charm that made it larger then it looked from the outside. Moving past Millicent, he curled up on the bed pallet. Millicent slowly moved towards him and when he didn't move she laid against his side. His fur smelled of the forest earth and the steady drum of his heart was strangely soothing for Millicent. Even though sleep evaded her, she couldn't help but close her eyes and fall into the comfort of the werewolf's presence.

At some point she must have fallen asleep because Millicent awoke hours later and found herself underneath the protective arm of Fenrir. The rugged man had returned to his human form by now and save but a layer of blanket he was very naked. Millicent wasn't sure how she could extract herself without waking him and caught herself instead staring at the slumbering werewolf.

Merlin, he is handsome, she admitted silently to herself. Up close now she could see that there wasn't just one scar on his face but many fainter ones that seemed hardly noticeable under the darkness of his tanned complexion and the stubble of his facial hair.

His long blond eyelashes fluttered in his sleep but otherwise Fenrir looked peaceful; it was hard to synthesize this image of him with the massive wolf from the night before or furthermore the terrible man that the wizarding world claimed him to be.

"Good morning love," Fenrir murmured, eyes still closed. Millicent flushed instantly when she realized she had been caught staring at him. Her heart was now racing but she still didn't move. For one thing, Fenrir still had his arm draped over her. Opening his eyes slowly he added sleepily, "this is nice."

And it was. But Millicent wasn't able to verbalize her agreement because she was still recovering from her embarrassment.

"Fenrir…" Millicent began but she felt like anything that came out of her mouth next would be nothing short of a stammering mess. His close proximity and that intense gaze of his coupled with Fenrir's obvious lack of attire left Millicent feeling foolishly without words.

But apparently words were not necessary as Fenrir leaned forward and kissed her softly. It was like a jolt of lightening shot through her and Millicent couldn't help but return the kiss, craving the exhilaration of his lips on her own. His powerful arm brought her close and Millicent raced her fingers across his chest with a hunger to feel the warmth of his skin against her own. When they finally broke away it felt too soon and Millicent was dazed by the voice inside her head that demanded more.

If she had been at a loss of words a moment ago, Millicent was convinced she was certainly now rendered speechless for all eternity. Fenrir said nothing either and despite his previous perpetual flirting he seemed slightly surprised himself. Whatever Millicent had felt clearly the werewolf had felt it too.

The silence was broken by a commotion of noise outside. In a quick movement, Fenrir reached for nearby clothes before investigating; Millicent followed behind him.

The full moon had ushered in the first snowfall of the season, blanketing the entire camp and changing the landscape into a completely new world. The camp's resident children were gleefully playing in the snow while the adults looked on with their own wonderment.

Fenrir smiled and Millicent did too but as she recalled the events from the night before she realized she needed to check on her friends.

"I need to find Morag and Tobey," Millicent said, Fenrir looked down at her and while it seemed as though he wanted to say something further he had decided against it. Instead the werewolf nodded and with that she disappeared in search for them.

It wasn't long before she located them both, thankful to see they appeared fine. Morag was sitting on a stool by the kitchen area while Nan applied a thick paste to the redheaded woman's bare arm. Despite the snow on the ground, Morag was dressed in a light-weight sleeveless linen blouse with her hair pulled back in a high bun. There were fresh scars on her neck in addition to the wound on her arm. Millicent winced at the sight and felt a twinge of guilt that she had a part in Morag's injuries.

"I don't know how I will ever repay you three," Millicent said as she came up to them.

"It's fine, just a bit of scratch," Morag said, deflecting the witch's gratitude with an air of nonchalance. "Nan's healing salve will have it fixed up by lunchtime."

"We're just glad you survived your first moon," Tobey said. "Not going to lie but we've grown a little fond of you, witch."

"The feeling is mutual," Millicent said and laughed despite the gravity of last night's events. She was relieved to have made it through it. Although she predicted it would not be the last time she would be dealing with Lucy, the witch was resolved to be ready next time.

"You are distracted again, Fenrir." Gabriel said, his dark eyes scanning the parchment in front of him. He didn't look up at Fenrir; he didn't need to for him to know the other werewolf wasn't paying any attention.

It wasn't a question posed for an answer but a simple statement of truth. They were sitting at a table under an outdoor canopy with several maps in front of them. However it was all too apparent that the Alpha werewolf was buried in his thoughts.

Fenrir blinked, his mind drifting back to the present task.

"She's not the first witch you've bedded," Gabriel said with a bored sigh as he rolled up a scroll and tucked it away in a leather binding, succumbing to the knowledge that little to any work would be done that morning. "I don't understand the hold she has on you."

"Neither do I," chimed in another voice. Both men turned to see Lucy approach them wearing an abashed smirk. Her long blonde hair was plaited neatly, falling against her collarbone where bruises from last night's incident still remained.

Fenrir glanced at Gabriel who nodded in understanding as he walked off and left the Alpha with Lucy. The blonde werewolf leaned casually against the table, tilting her head innocently to the side. `

"You had no business going after Millicent last night," he said with narrowed eyes. Despite his feelings on the matter, Fenrir kept his voice neutral.

"I didn't realize our plans for the witch had changed," Lucy shrugged as she absently dusted the hem of her cloak. Her calm smug demeanor bothered the Alpha werewolf. She batted her eyelashes, "it was an obvious mistake."

"You didn't have my permission," Fenrir said with quiet venom. Lucy's coy smile faded and was replaced by a shadow in her expression that she quickly buried. Lucy sensed the dynamics between the two of them had changed. And she knew it had everything to do with the witch who's scent now mingled with his.

"It was instinct, Fenrir; besides she doesn't belong here," Lucy leaned in close to the Alpha werewolf, reaching out to touch his arm as she attempted a new tactic to reach him. She lowered her voice to a softer tone, "she isn't one of us. You know this. A werewolf pack is no place for a witch."

"Stay away from her Lucy," Fenrir warned as he pulled his arm back. "That's an order."

There was a long pause before Lucy hopped off the table, seeming resigned. "As you wish," she said before slinking away. Fenrir watched her walk away, unsure of what intentions still lurked in the female werewolf's mind. He remained unconvinced that it would be the last time they had this conversation.

It would be so much easier if she was one of us, Fenrir thought to himself, rubbing his temples in mild exasperation. Last night he had come so close to losing Millicent; there was no doubt in his mind that had he arrived even a fraction of a moment later Lucy would have killed Millicent.

She's a threat to her, the wolf within him with the growing feelings he had for the witch, this thought troubled him.

The easiest solution seemed to be to make Millicent a werewolf. Give her the bite and let her truly become a member of the pack. And yet Fenrir felt it wasn't so black and white. For one thing he knew the wizarding world still pulled her. But more importantly he knew it needed to be her choice.

Fenrir's eyes softened as he thought of the past. He was not going to make the same mistake again.


	4. Chapter 4

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Millicent's 4th Year._

 _December._

 _"It's the Yule Ball, Millie. You have to go!" Pansy whined, sitting on the foot of her friend's bed. The girl's Slytherin Dormitory was quiet in the afternoon, with most students finishing up classes for the day or preparing for the upcoming festivities. Pansy was eager to pursue the latter but felt betrayed by her roommate's lack of enthusiasm._

 _"Just so I can watch you and Draco snog? I think I will pass," Millicent said as she pretended to read a book. Her bed's gauzy canopy had been drawn down for privacy but it didn't seem to matter much. Pansy wasn't going to leave. The spidery lettering on the cover of Millicent's book was entitled Wicked Witches: Women of the Dark Arts. Literature wasn't the Slytherin's strong suit but the title had caught her eye as she searched for subject material for a paper. And at this point, anything seemed more interesting then the conversation she currently was being dragged into._

 _Millicent was growing annoyed by Pansy's incessant nagging on the matter; she had made up her mind about attending (or not attending, rather) Hogwart's Yule Ball festivities weeks ago but it seemed every time she told Pansy her intentions the young girl acted as if it was the first time she had heard her._

 _"It will be fun! Maybe you could go with one of those handsome Durmstrung boys. You know I heard most of them come from fine pureblood families," Pansy said with her dark eyes glittering as she imagined the possibilities of her friend living out some version of a teen witch romance novel. "How perfect would it be if you met your future husband?"_

 _"That's your fantasy, Pansy. Not mine," Millicent responded._

 _"Ah yes, you have no time for such things like thoughts of marriage," Pansy bit back sharply as she rolled her eyes. "But you really should. Finding the right suitor, the right bloodline, is so important for girls like us. Now, I know your mother was a -"_

 _Pansy's words were abruptly cut short by the other Slytherin's venomous glare. At the mention of her mother Millicent's annoyance had quickly turned to fury. "That's enough Pansy, get out."_

 _Pansy recoiled slightly, knowing she had stepped over the line. She nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She should have stopped the conversation there but Pansy was tenacious. "I didn't mean anything bad by it. Everyone knows the Bulstrodes are a noble house; it doesn't make any difference to me that you aren't a true pureblood."_

 _"I swear to Salazar himself, Pansy Parkinson if you do not get away from me I will hex you into oblivion this instant," Millicent said with a steely tone. She snapped shut her book with such a loud abruptness that it made Pansy jump as though she had been struck across the face._

 _Feeling defeated, Pansy stood up in a huff but just before she marched off she turned back to Millicent. "Like it or not this is the world we live in. Choosing the right company of people to associate with, the right boy to marry so that we can keep our bloodlines intact, these are the things that matter!"_

 _Those were the things that mattered to Pansy._

 _Not just her but Millicent's other friends too, even Blaise who found most pureblood customs to be, in his exact words, 'utterly archaic and primeval', still acknowledged that he would follow the path his parents had written for him. For Millicent life never felt so set in stone. For one thing, she was a half-blood living among pureblood aristocracy._

 _Contrary to popular belief, there were plenty of other half-bloods in the House of Slytherin even though many chose not to openly acknowledge their heritage. With an ancient surname like Bulstrode most assumed that Millicent was a pureblood herself and although she did not correct others, the handful of her closest peers knew the truth._

 _Millicent's mother had been a muggleborn witch._

 _In addition, Tempest Bulstrode, had been other things as well. Brave and cunning, she was once a force to be reckoned with in her time as an Auror. Grandma Bulstrode had called her daughter-in-law "backwater" and "uncouth" but Millicent thought her mother had been one of the most interesting people in her world._

 _It had been her mother that had instilled in Millicent a deep sense of self-preservation and had she lived to see the day, Millicent hoped that she could have made the fierce woman proud. But tragedy was both blind and cruel and Millicent was ten-years-old when her mother left for a mission only never to return._

 _Millicent learned early on that there were a lot of things in life that seemed completely unfair. Her mother's death was just a bullet point on a lengthy laundry list of grievances she kept catalogued away in her mind just in case she ever got an audience with the Universe and might want to air them._

 _We weren't meant for this this world of pureblood bullshit, mom._

The weeks that passed since Millicent's first moon with the pack had been rendered into a seamless blend of daily hunting excursions with Tobey and Morag, campfire drinking games with some of the older werewolves and helping Nan with a few chores when she could. She saw very little of Fenrir in that time as his responsibilities had doubled after the Order's attack on the satellite pack. Millicent knew the war had already begun and the tremors of violence on the werewolf's idyllic little world were only the beginning.

Tobey had grown up mostly outside the Wizarding world and when they talked he almost always peppered her with questions about Hogwarts and life as a witch. Millicent felt a pang of sadness that he had not gone to school with her and that somehow he had missed out on an experience he might have enjoyed. She certainly hadn't enjoyed much of it, but then again school had never been her most favorite places.

Millicent didn't mind answering him about class schedules and the sort of lessons she would have. It was a fair trade as he answered her barrage of questions about werewolves without complaint.

"You don't strike me as the Death Eater type," Tobey said as they walked through the forest. "I mean don't get me wrong. You're mean as hell and tough as nails but not really like that Bellatrix bird that I see sulking around Fenrir. That one's completely nutters."

Millicent figured one could not be as powerful as Bellatrix Lestrange and not become certifiably insane along the way. A lengthy stint at Azkaban probably didn't do any wonders for her mental state either. Millicent still admired the Dark Witch and the power she wielded. No one would ever dare called Bellatrix weak, for instance.

"I didn't think there was much of a choice for my lot. Figured if I joined up with them I would fair better then if I didn't." Millicent said with a shrug, she had envisioned herself becoming a powerful dark witch under the Death Eaters although by now realized it probably wasn't something they promised on their figurative recruitment posters. "But so much for that. Now I am stuck with your arse."

"I don't see you complaining when you shack up with Fenrir," Tobey said, childishly sticking out his tongue. Millicent blushed and punched him in the arm but that only made the werewolf laugh.

Suddenly there was a soft crack of a tree branch that made Tobey's smile falter. He sniffed the air and a confused look crossed his face. Before Millicent could question her friend's action he pushed her away.

"TOBEY!" Millicent screamed.

He dropped to the ground, gasping in both shock and pain as the arrow's head drove into his chest. Several other arrows flew out at them, nearly missing Millicent. Crouching low she grabbed her wand and shot several hexes in the direction she thought the arrows had come from. After a pause when there was no return fire, she looked down at Tobey in terror.

Blood quickly pooled from the wound and Millicent bowed beside him as she pressed her hands around the site of the injury. The attempt to compress it proved to be no success so she tilted her wand, eyes continuing to scan the tree line for any sign of the attacker. But there was no time to seek them out, not if she wanted to save her friend.

"Hang on, hang on, hang on," she said while the werewolf looked on in alarm unable to speak. Thinking quickly, Millicent snapped the arrow shaft down so that only the tip of the weapon remained. She removed Tobey's belt and took the dagger from its case. Shoving the leather belt between his teeth. Millicent kissed her friend's forehead before using the dagger blade to draw the arrow's sharp point out.

Once the arrowhead was out, Millicent held her wand near the wound and began muttering an incantation with a fervent whisper, "vulnera sanentur"

She prayed to every entity she could think of that the spell would work and was relieved when the trails of blood from the wound slowed to a halt. The crimson tracts began to dissipate as skin knitted itself over the puncture mark. It wasn't the most perfect healing spell but it would be enough to give them enough time to make it back to the camp. By now Tobey was unconscious from the blood loss so Millicent quickly cast a levitation charm to carry him back.

The distance back to the campsite seemed longer then ever before and with each step, Millicent waged an internal battle with her emotions. Tears stained her cheeks despite her attempt to maintain a stoic expression; from the corner of her eye she stole glances at Tobey. His skin was pale and clammy, his breath ragged.

Please don't die on me.

Whoever had ambushed them was still out there and Millicent had half a mind to hope they revealed themselves if only so she could strike them down herself. Further relief flooded her when she saw the signs of camp ahead. Almost just as quickly as she saw the familiar smoke of the campfires did she see the outline of Fenrir rushing towards them with several other members of the pack behind him.

"What happened?" He asked urgently.

"We were attacked, I think the arrow was meant for me but Tobey…" Millicent's voice broke as she fought back the tears. The other werewolves took over, taking Tobey off to a nearby yurt designated for medical treatment.

Fenrir wrapped his arms around her tightly and Millicent was comforted by the heat that radiated from him and the sound of his heartbeat against her ear. "I sensed you were in danger," the werewolf said, pulling away so that he could look into her eyes more clearly.

"Are you hurt?"

"No, I am okay. I swear," Millicent's sea blue eyes met Fenrir's with a questioning look. She was not sure what to make of the werewolf or the feelings he inspired in her. The kiss they had shared still danced in her thoughts constantly because it had felt like just the surface of something much more then perhaps either of them knew how to put into words.

Millicent wanted to ask him how he could sense her and if so, could he also feel what she felt too?

The moment was interrupted by Morag, who ran up to Millicent with a frantic look as she asked,

"Where's Tobey?" She assessed the gravity of the situation by the expressions on Fenrir and Millicent's faces and repeated again. "What's happened to him? Where is he?"

The sick plunge of pain in her heart deepened as Millicent told Morag about the ambush. When she saw the redhead begin to crumble Millicent wordlessly hugged her.

Millicent and Morag took turns sitting by Tobey's motionless body in the days to come. Nan monitored the young werewolf but grew concerned when his health continued to worsen and he did not regain consciousness. "The arrow must have been poisoned," the old woman concluded sadly.

"What can we do to help him?" Millicent asked.

"He needs an antidote but I do not have the ingredients here," Nan said as she stroked Tobey's hair in a maternal gesture. "We will need a few things from a proper apothecary if he is going to have a chance to live."

"Then I'll go get them," Morag said.

"I will too," Millicent answered as well. Both Nan and Morag glanced at each other before looking back at Millicent. She could interpret their shared silence clearly: the decision to go would not necessarily be up to her.

It was Fenrir's call to make.

In her time with them she had been treated as not just a guest but in many ways a member of the pack. And yet there was still that line. That unspoken acknowledgement that she had been sent to live with them and not entirely by choice.

That night Millicent paid a visit to the alpha werewolf. He looked less carefree since the attack on the pack and even more so since Tobey's injury. But still he smiled at her with such warmness when Millicent entered his yurt that it made her stomach do a flip.

"I cannot just sit here and watch him die. He got hurt trying to protect me," Millicent said after explaining what Nan had told her and Morag. Although the verdict was still out who might have attacked them, the witch had one person in mind; she didn't dare voice her accusation though.

Not yet. She didn't have any proof it was Lucy and right now her priority needed to be saving Tobey. The rest of the pack had already decided it had been a rival pack or even a centaur from a nearby herd and for now Millicent wasn't going to question it.

"And you will return?" Fenrir asked slowly and Millicent was both angry and confused by the question.

"What? Of course, Tobey is my friend and this…"

 _Is my home now_ , Millicent thought to herself and it seemed Fenrir intuitively understood what she had intended to say aloud.

"Then go," he said as he took her hand and kissed it tenderly. And in turn it felt as though Millicent heard what Fenrir could not say aloud himself.

 _But please come home to me._

According to the wizarding world, it was common theory that lycanthropy was a tragic disease to be managed. However, Fenrir had learned long ago that it wasn't that at all.

It was a gift.

But lately the duality of man and animal was feeling strained for him. The wolf in Fenrir was clawing at the surface of his mind, demanding his attention both day and night and he was unaccustomed to this imbalance. In truth, he had not felt the struggle of his two selves for many years.

What he did know was that the feelings had only surged after Millicent left. He had even caught himself pacing once or twice. It had become apparent that in her absence the wolf in him was not pleased. The restless burning energy of the werewolf's inner beast made it hard to concentrate on much of anything else for Fenrir.

Hence why he found himself perched alone in the empty field. He was desperate to clear his mind. Sitting in careful mediation, neither the snow nor frigid wind bothered Fenrir. Eyes closed, he shut out the world around him and focused only on the quiet inhale and exhale of his breaths.

The invention of wolfsbane had been heralded as a success in treating werewolves but Fenrir knew better about that as well. He honored both sides of himself, the mortal mind and the savage's heart: Two forces existing in one vessel, neither one being suppressed by the other.

And once they were in balance, he was free. In mind, spirit and also body. Because one of the most guarded secrets of their kind was that a powerful enough werewolf didn't need the moon to shift.

It had taken decade of practice but Fenrir was nearly there, able to shift into something in between wolf and man. But it seemed just as he would find this state he would lose it.

Sometimes in these mediations and attempts to channel the wolf's magic, memories would manifest unbidden...

It was winter there too and he was surrounded by dense forest not unlike the trees that engulfed him in the present. Only here his father's blood stained the snow, his throat slashed and dead eyes staring back at Fenrir in terror. The boy was shaking, hands gripping the axe that was nearly too heavy for him to lift.

"Hati, run!" He shouted at his younger brother but the small child didn't move. He was bawling as the ancient creature slowly prowled closer to them. It was a wolf but unlike anything the young boy had seen before. It was larger than a full-grown bear with fur as black as the dark night sky above.

As it circled closer the beast growled but Fenrir met it's eyes with a steely stare even as he saw his father's blood drip down from the beast's jaw.

There was no time to react when the wolf lurched forward. Fenrir was mid-swing as the great beast bit down on his arm, piercing through his jacket and tearing into flesh. He yelled out in pain and dropped the axe but was surprised when the wolf relented almost instantly. Fenrir panted heavily as he reached for the axe again but this time found he couldn't hold it without the use of his wounded arm.

"Stay away from him!" Fenrir screamed as the wolf moved towards Hati.

Fenrir raced to throw himself at the wolf but it was too late. The three-year-old was wailing and the sound of his brother's voice filled Fenrir's ears as the wolf grabbed the child by the leg violently with its teeth.

Fenrir let out a gasp as he tore himself away from the personal demons still lurking in the shadows of his memories. After all these years the events of his past were still seared to the walls of his mind.

When Millicent and Morag arrived at the outskirts of town the sun was beginning to set on the horizon. They had spent hours walking with only the steady crunch of snow beneath them filling the silence, the severity of their mission laid heavy on their shoulders. Millicent wished she had been able to pass her Apparation tests back at Hogwarts which could have made it so much faster but she was relieved when they finally made it to the town's border.

There was something so jarring about the sight of cobblestone homes and the soft glow of lamp posts dotting the streets; after so many weeks living among the werewolves it felt like she was looking at a mirage. It was as though it were an illusion she imagined that would soon disappear and be replaced by just another endless scene of forest trees instead.

"We better get a move on," Morag said sternly when she noticed Millicent had paused in her tracks.

Strings of red and green lights glistened in the windows of all the nearby buildings, ornate wreaths hung from doors with candy-cane banners twirling in winter wind.

It was then the significance of the decorations dawned on Millicent. It was nearing Christmas.

Millicent struggled to grasp the idea that time had passed since she had gone to live with the werewolf. Indeed, life had not stopped in her absence rather it had only accelerated. She thought about Blaise and Pansy as well as Draco and the others still back at Hogwarts or perhaps home for the holidays by now.

They crossed the street and Millicent silently walked alongside Morag until they came upon their destination. They entered the Apothecary and were immediately accosted by the smell of various ingredients ranging from benign herbs to deadly magical blooms. Tiny jars lined the walls in neat rows, one after another stacked high into the rafters of the ceiling. Each capsule was labeled with beautiful handwritten labels.

An old man stepped out behind the counter as a little bell above the front door announced their presence. Balding, he appeared to be in his late sixties and peered at the pair of women curiously, no doubt taking in the rugged state of their attire.

He was nonetheless polite when he greeted his latest customers. "Good evening ladies what might I do for you?"

"We need the ingredients on this list, please," Morag said and handed the piece of parchment to the storekeeper. He retrieved his reading glasses from the confines of his shirt pocket, scanning the list very carefully. "Alright then, let's see what I can do."

Putting his weight on a wooden cane the old man hobbled off in search of what they needed. In that time someone else appeared from the same room the older man had been in earlier. Millicent had wandered off to another part of the shop and was too busy scanning the various

items to notice the youth staring at her.

"Bulstrode? Is that really you?"

Her heart nearly stopped at the sound of her surname. Millicent glanced over to Morag who was standing off by the counter. While the redhead glanced at her from the corner of her eye she did not make any further acknowledgement.

"Do I know you?" Millicent asked with a slightly furrowed brow. Her voice was barely above a whisper. The boy in front of her was younger then her with messy brown hair that reminded Millicent of Tobey.

"Probably not," he said with a shy smile. "I'm Lucas Harper, Slytherin but a year younger then you. I remember you because you were the one that put that Gryffindor girl in a headlock."

"For the record, she started it," Millicent said plainly.

"Everybody said that you joined-" He began to say but was cut off by Millicent as she pressed her index finger to her lips.

She leaned in and said in a fierce whisper. "Listen I can't really talk but do me a favor will you? Tell Zabini and the others that I am alive. Tell them I am okay...tell them I'm better than okay.."

He gave her a confused look but as Morag approached them he nodded. "Have a Merry Yule, miss!" He said before ducking off into the back of the shop.

"What was that all about?" Morag asked as they stepped back outside.

"What do you mean?" Millicent replied and pulled the cloak hood up to guard her face from both the chill of the winter wind and also Morag's further examination. She felt slightly bad for not telling Morag the truth but something inside Millicent convinced her that it might do more harm then good if the werewolf knew she was sending a message along to her friends back at Hogwarts. She wasn't sure if Lucas would really pass along the message but she was hopeful. Would Blaise and Pansy be relieved to know she was still alive? She wondered how they would react and whether the news might reach her father. But at that point she decided she didn't care what _he_ thought of the matter.

"Let's get back home."

Unfortunately they were still a few hours away from camp when the first flurries of snow began to fall. They trudged on anyways, mostly because Morag was leading the way and refused to slow her pace even for a moment. But as the wind started picking up Millicent feared that they were walking straight into a blizzard. Morag, however, was relentless and insisted in driving forward even as visibility worsened.

It was dangerous, even for a werewolf like Morag.

"We have to stop, it's only getting stronger," Millicent yelled over the high-pitch howl of the wind.

Morag shook her head fiercely. "Absolutely not! Tobey can't wait for the cure."

"We will die trying to get back there tonight," Millicent said and grabbed Morag by the arm when she couldn't get her to stop. The woman spun on Millicent, her eyes glowing a shade of amber as the wolf within snarled. The look was so scathing it caught Millicent off guard and she instantly let go of her friend.

"Then you stay, witch! He's mine and I have to get back to him," Morag said with a furious tone. Millicent saw that beneath her friend's frustration there was pain. Not only that but genuine fear. Millicent briefly matched Morag's look of anger but her expression softened.

"I know," Millicent said and there was a long pause between them where only the howl of the wind could be heard. "I know you do but we need to wait out this storm. We can keep going as soon as it subsides."

There was another long silence as Morag considered Millicent's suggestion. Eventually she nodded and pointed to a nearby gathering of boulders. They marched through the knee-deep snow to find a dry crack between the stones large enough for the two of them to duck out of the storm.

Millicent took out a shallow bowl from her backpack, retrieved her wand and muttered an incantation to summon a blue flame from it's tip. She nudged the ball of fire and it gently floated to the bowl where it flickered but did not burn the surface.

"Sorry for snapping at you, Mills," Morag said, losing some of the gruffness in her voice.

"Don't worry about it," Millicent replied as she absently poked the flame with her index finger. The magical fire warmed her hand but didn't burn it as she spun it in a clockwise circle. The witch looked up at the werewolf and asked, "Does Tobey know?"

"That git? He's as oblivious as they come," Morag said with a short laugh. "But I've known he was going to be my mate since the day I met him. He drives me mad but I would be in pieces without him."

Millicent smiled. She wasn't much for love stories, when the other girls at school would be writing their names with their crush's last name she had been concerned with other things.

And yet she found Morag's devotion lovely. Which wasn't a word in Millicent's typical vernacular.

"How did you know he was your mate?" Millicent asked. In her time with the werewolves there were things she was beginning to learn about them that still seemed so confusing. Like the subject of mates; it was a bond that seemed to transcend what she knew about marriage and yet it was altogether mysterious to her.

"Can't explain it," Morag said, but rummaging over her thoughts she elaborated. "Except it's like this tether that binds us. When he's happy I can feel it in my very bones and when he's hurt…"

The werewolf bit her lip and murmured quietly, "well, I feel that too."

"That's why you came running," Millicent said, understanding.

"I wasn't the only one who came running when you two came back," Morag replied, as she took the flame out of the bowl. She let it dance across her knuckles, transfixed by the cerulean light it emitted.

Millicent's eyes widened in surprise at her friend's implication. "Wait, what do you mean by that?"

"Nothing at all," Morag said with knowing smile.


End file.
